


Declarations of Love

by AgentInfinity



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil
Genre: Awkward Enjolras, Gen, M/M, Modern AU, Multi, but nothing too graphic, enjolras gets an epiphany, fighter grantaire, so violence i suppose, there are some descriptions of a fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-17 10:50:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1384828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentInfinity/pseuds/AgentInfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras finally realizes that he's in love with Grantaire and decides he must tell him this instant.  Even if he has to go to a shady underground fighting ring to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Declarations of Love

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually the first Les Mis fic I ever wrote, but it's been sitting on my computer for about a year. I just found it and thought I'd post it. As always, the characters you know are not mine, but all the mistakes are.

It was eight o’clock on a Saturday. Enjolras was trying to work on an international law term paper and failing spectacularly. He kept staring at his phone. Specifically, he was re-reading a text Grantaire had sent him two days earlier in response to working on a t-shirt design. It was simple and to the point and so very Grantaire.

_ >ya come to mine on sun sometime. ill be the one still asleep when you get there. feel free to crawl into bed with me to wake me up. ;) night apollo._

Enjolras didn’t understand why _this_ particular text was throwing him. The dark-haired man had been making sexual jokes toward Enjolras since the day they met two years ago. Grantaire had still been in art school then, and Enjolras was a sophomore political policy major who clashed famously with him.

However, for some reason, despite never seeming to care very much about any of the causes in which Les Amis took part, Grantaire had stayed. For a while, that baffled Enjolras, but it quickly became apparent that he was as much a part of their group as anyone else. He talked classics with Jehan and philosophy with Combeferre. He and Feuilly did joint art endeavors. Courfeyrac always called Grantaire first when he wanted to go out for a night of drinking and revelry. Bahorel and Eponine were the ones who’d introduced him to the group in the first place, being a trio of childhood friends from one of the shadier neighborhoods in town.

And for Enjolras, well he and Grantaire had some truly explosive ~~arguments~~ debates. Neither of them took the words hurled at them by the other to heart. Well, not most times. Enjolras’ debating skills grew stronger and he learned to keep his words from cutting into personal feelings over time.

He admired Grantaire, and felt off-balance when he wasn’t present for a meeting.

But, they weren’t very close. They often didn’t talk between meetings and they didn’t seem to have much in common. Enjolras was full of idealistic, righteous fervor, flying through his double major course load and still set to graduate on time. Grantaire had spent six years earning his B.F.A. in painting and graphic design. Enjolras was very controlled and meticulous; Grantaire was wild and messy and spontaneous.

Recently, however, as Enjolras worked more and more with him on designs for posters and shirts and flyers, he steadily grew more intrigued by every bit of information he learned about Grantaire.

He didn’t talk about any of his family and always spent holidays with Bahorel, Eponine and her brother Gavroche. He had a myriad of tattoos across his back and chest and down his arms that Enjolras didn’t like thinking about too often because it made his chest feel strange and tight. A few of his paintings were hanging in the local art gallery, and he made okay money from commissions. He was most definitely an alcoholic, but one that somehow still functioned. For the time being, anyway.

He never looked happier or more beautiful than when he was focused on a painting.

Wait. _What?_ Beautiful??

Enjolras had been feeling something _different_ toward Grantaire lately, laughing with him into the night as they worked on projects for Les Amis. It was spring, and they were working on about five causes at once. That meant a lot of design work.

That meant a lot of time spent with Grantaire.

Enjolras quickly scrounged around for some scrap paper and a pen. He made lists when things didn’t make sense to him. It helped his overworked mind figure out commonalities and make deductions. He started writing.

_My chest feels funny when I look at him sometimes._  
Meetings feel wrong to me when he’s not there.  
I always double-check my texts to him to make sure they’re perfect.  
I like his hair.  
I like his tattoos.  
I like to ~~argue~~ debate with him.  
I think about him a lot.  
He’s beau— 

Enjolras jumped up and dropped his pen on the floor. He sprinted for Combeferre’s room, crashing through the door. Alarmed, Combeferre lifted his eyebrows and got up from his bed where he’d been reading.

“What’s wrong, Enjolras?” he asked.

“I think I love Grantaire,” Enjolras blurted out, his face immediately flushing pink.

“Okay,” Combeferre remarked slowly, drawing out the long ‘o’ sound. “What brought you to that conclusion?”

“I, uh, I made a list, and then it hit me,” Enjolras explained, moving his hands about as if that would help him get his point across. “And I needed to tell someone…So, I told, well…you,” Enjolras said awkwardly. Usually, when speaking, Enjolras was very precise and knew exactly what to say to be understood. Here and now, though, that wasn’t the case.

“A list,” Combeferre repeated, dryly.

“Yes,” Enjolras nodded.

“That helped you conclude that you’re in love with Grantaire.” It was a statement. Enjolras nodded anyway. “Well, I’m glad you’ve finally realized it.”

“ _What?_ ,” Enjolras asked, bewildered.

“Enjolras, you’ve had, well, romantic feelings toward Grantaire for a long time. It’s pretty obvious.”

“It is?” Combeferre grinned, amused as Enjolras ran his fingers through his hair for the third time since barging into Combeferre’s room.

“Yes, my friend. It is.” A beat of silence passed.

“So, what do I do now?”

“You tell him how you feel.”

“Just like that?” Enjolras had only felt passing bouts of attraction to people before, but with Grantaire, well. He yearned to know everything about him. He wanted to hug him tightly, kiss him breathless, touch him all over.

_Be_ touched by him.

“Just like that,” Combeferre patiently confirmed. Enjolras nodded one last time.

“Okay,” he said simply and left the room. If he’d turned back before exiting, he would’ve seen Combeferre chuckle to himself for a few seconds before going back to his book with a small smile on his face.

Enjolras went back to his own room, shoved his keys and phone in his pockets, laced up his shoes and then left the apartment.

It took him half an hour to walk to the apartment Grantaire shared with Bahorel and Eponine. In those thirty minutes, his determination had drained and a harsh crackle of anxiety had set up in his abdomen. Once, he turned back, sure Grantaire would laugh in his face and slam the door on him, but then he remembered the kindness that sat behind all of Grantaire’s cynicism and sarcasm and turned around once more.

When he arrived at the door marked ‘307’, he rapped his knuckles against the surface and waited. And fidgeted. He heard the television’s sound lower and footsteps behind the door, and a few seconds later, Bahorel swung the door open, shirtless and holding a beer.

“Hey, Chief! What brings you by tonight?”

“Um, I was looking for Grantaire.” Bahorel frowned and turned his head back toward the living room. “Hey, Ep,” he called, “where’s R tonight?”

“Fighting,” she yelled back. Enjolras could just see her beyond Bahorel with someone else on the couch. Bahorel turned back to him.

“Were you supposed meet him tonight or something. He probably won’t be home until late.”

“No, I just had something I needed to talk to him about.” Enjolras rubbed at the curls on the back of his head. “Did Eponine say he was _fighting_?” Fighting who or what or why?

“Yeah,” Bahorel lowered his voice, glancing around the hallway and then back inside at Eponine and their guest. He leaned closer to Enjolras. “He does underground fighting sometimes to supplement his income. All three of us do.” Enjolras didn’t understand that. He knew that Bahorel and Grantaire boxed and that Eponine practiced a few types of martial arts, but participating in illegal fighting rings? Wasn’t that dangerous? Bahorel laughed quietly at Enjolras’ expression.

“Look man, it’s a rush. We like doing it. The cash is just a plus. Most of the time, we don’t even need the cash.” He clapped Enjolras on the shoulder. “But, that means you’ll probably have to catch him tomorrow sometime.” Enjolras had to talk to him tonight or he’d lose his nerve. His overactive mind would plague him with horrible outcomes all night if he didn’t do it right then.

“No, I need to talk to him tonight,” he said firmly, looking Bahorel straight in the eye. Bahorel’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Is something wrong, Chief?”

“No, I just need to talk to Grantaire. Now.”

“Can _I_ help you?”

“No.” He was getting irritated now.

“Why?”

“Because I’m in love with him, and I didn’t know it until about forty-five minutes ago, and I need to tell him right now!” he exclaimed, voice growing in volume as he went. Bahorel took a step back and just looked at him. He took a sip of his beer and then looked some more.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m playing around?” Enjolras asked, voice getting a bit higher. Bahorel broke out into a grin.

“What day is it?” Enjolras tilted his head to the side.

“The 27th. Why?” Bahorel laughed loudly and pumped his fist in the air. 

“Ep! C’mere!” She grumbled something quietly and then approached the door. Funnily enough, Courfeyrac followed behind her. He must have been the other person on the couch. Huh.

“What is it, you fuc—oh hey Enj. Grantaire’s not here right now.” She punched Bahorel in the shoulder as she spoke, much to his displeasure.

“What are you doing here, Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked, peeking between Eponine and Bahorel. Before he could answer, Bahorel turned and put an arm across his shoulders, lips turned up in a beaming smile.

“Our chief here has realized that he is in love with Grantaire and has to tell him tonight.” His smile relaxed into a lopsided, smug grin.

“Fuck! No! My week doesn’t start for another month!” Courfeyrac whined. Bahorel released Enjolras and shared a high-five with Eponine.

“Was anyone else on our week?” Eponine asked Bahorel. He shook his head no, eyes gleaming. She pumped her fist in the air. “Ka-ching, motherfuckers!” Enjolras’ frustration was growing exponentially.

“I don’t care who won whatever bet was on me, just please tell me where Grantaire is so I can go there.”

“Only one bet was on you, the other was on you _and_ R, Enj. One was for when you’d realize how much you wanted to jump R’s body and the other was for when you’d actually act on it and get together.” She grinned conspiratorily. “We won both.” Enjolras started to protest, but then focused on the latter bet.

“How do you know he feels the same for me?” Eponine rolled her eyes while Bahorel laughed. Courf smiled at Enjolras like they were sharing an inside joke. Only they weren’t.

“Because he’s been in love with you since you two had your first argument. Well, at least in lust with you, but it’s definitely love now,” Eponine said like it was something he should’ve already known.

“Really?” he asked, feeling hopeful.

“For fuck’s sake, Bahorel, just take him there,” Eponine groaned.

“But—“ Bahorel tried to argue.

“No, you take him. We’ll still be here when you get back. If they get their shit together quickly, you can make it back in time for round two or three.” She smirked at Courf. He looked from Eponine to Bahorel and waggled his eyebrows.

“What’s—oh. I see,” Enjolras said quietly, comprehension dawning on him as he spoke. Bahorel sat his beer down on the small stand beside the door and grabbed his keys.

“Fine, fine. C’mon, Enj. Let’s go.” Enjolras smiled widely at him and followed.

In Bahorel’s beaten up, elderly truck, he drove away from the university district and toward the dying industrial section. He dialed a number on his phone and tucked it between his ear and shoulder, steering with one hand and shifting gears with the other.

“Hey, ‘Parnasse. What’s the word for tonight?” Someone on the other end, apparently named ‘Parnasse’ said something back. “No, I’m not in for tonight, but I’m bringing someone with me to watch.” Another pause. “Fine, put me down for next Friday. What’s the word?” ‘Parnasse replied and Bahorel quickly said, “Yeah, yeah, fuck you too,” and hung up. He looked sideways at Enjolras with a thoughtful look.

“How’d you figure it out?” Enjolras blushed again.

“I made a list.” Bahorel chuckled fondly.

“Of course. Well, in any case, I’m glad it finally hit ya. And I’m glad it waited until now.” The large man laughed and patted Enjolras’ back with a calloused hand.

Before long, Bahorel stopped the truck and parked on the street. Enjolras followed him down the road and around the corner. The area seemed deserted with no houses or business that were still open. Bahorel led him down a gravel and dirt road and through a well-hidden hole in the large chain-link fence surrounding an abandoned lumber factory. Neither of them talked.

When they reached a steel door in the back of one of the buildings, two overly muscled guards with shaved, military-style haircuts and completely black attire stared them down.

“Word,” one of them commanded.

“Mischief,” Bahorel replied. Neither of them changed their expression, but the one who hadn’t asked for a password stepped back so they could push open the door and enter.

An entryway stretched before them sparsely lighted and with someone sitting at a table at the end. Cheers and the sound of bare fists hitting flesh echoed mutedly through the hallway. The girl seated at the table was a flirty looking redhead.

“Hey, Candy,” Bahorel greeted her.

“Hi, B,” she replied sounding bored, but taking in Bahorel’s muscled form with her eyes. “You got your cover?”

“Na, I’m not fighting tonight. I’m just bringing my friend here for the first time.” He slung an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders.

“You still gotta pay to get in,” she said, holding her hand out for his money. Just then, a slender form slinked out of the dark corner behind the table. When he came into the light, Enjolras could see that he was a tall, lithe man wearing a tailored Italian suit. When he spoke, it was with an English accent.

“No, it’s okay, Candy,” the man said, voice as smooth as silk. “Bahorel’s fighting for me next week. They can go in free.” If Enjolras didn’t know that Bahorel enjoyed fighting so much, he might have felt guilty about him agreeing to a match just so Enjolras could get inside tonight. “Hello, Bahorel. Who’s your friend?” Enjolras opened his mouth to answer for himself when Bahorel beat him to it.

“William. This is William. He wants to see what’s going on.” Enjolras knew he looked like a trust-fund kid. Mostly because he was. He could practically see this man sizing him up to see how much money he’d put down on a fight. “ _William_ ,” Bahorel gave him a quick stern look telling him to go along with it. “This is Montparnasse. He runs this whole thing.”

Montparnasse held his hand out for Enjolras to shake, squeezing firmly to show Enjolras who was in charge here.

“Pleased to meet you, William.”

“Likewise.” Enjolras suddenly felt like he could’ve waited to see Grantaire. He didn’t want this man to know who he was, fake name or not. Montparnasse reminded him of a python slowly sizing up his prey to see if it could swallow it or not.

“Well, don’t let me hold you up,” he smiled at them, teeth glinting in the lowlight, “go on in. Let me know if you need anything at all.”

“Yeah, ‘Parnasse. See ya later.” Bahorel turned down a hallway to the right and Enjolras stayed right on his heels. He had the distinct urge to find a sink where he could wash the hand Montparnasse had touched. Bahorel leaned in close once they were far enough from the entrance to have a conversation without anyone overhearing.

“He knows that R and Ep and I don’t have anything worth stealing, but you on the other hand, look like you own a lot of things he’d like to have. He doesn’t need your real name.” Enjolras wondered how hard it would be for someone like Montparnasse to find him.

The noise level rose and rose as they headed toward big, double doors at the end of yet another hallway. Bahorel shoved the right one open, and they stepped inside. The crowd circled the perimeter of a round cage-like ring and was roaring as someone inside the ring had a fist raised in the air. As Enjolras and Bahorel elbowed their way nearer to the front, they could see that the fist belonged to Grantaire. He was shirtless and shoeless, his face delighted and eyes wild. Another man entered, slightly shorter than Grantaire, but bulkier, to more cheers. This man had his head shaved and was in the same attire at Grantaire. He beat his fists against his chest and yelled back at the crowd.

“For this very special finale, folks, we have Lonnie “Knockout” McClanahan facing crowd favorite Grantaire!” an announcer called out. More yells and clapping exploded as they found a gap near the front to watch.

A bell sounded and Grantaire’s easy smile disappeared into a look of heavy concentration as the two circled each other. Enjolras had no idea what he was supposed to do with this. He’d wanted to come find Grantaire and tell him that he was in love with him and that was it. Then Grantaire could decide if he wanted him or not.

This, though, Enjolras had not expected this. Grantaire was trading blows with Lonnie, moving smoothly yet lightning fast. His body was shiny with sweat, and his tattoos were made even brighter in the harsh spotlights. Enjolras felt a tightening low in his belly.

One of Lonnie’s punches caught Grantaire spot on and staggered him a few steps back. Grantaire blocked his face from more attacks and shook it off, swinging his leg low and taking Lonnie’s legs out from underneath him. Lonnie rolled to the side and hopped to his feet. The two fighters circled each other until Grantaire was facing Enjolras and Bahorel. Blood had poured down his face and dripped onto his chest. They jabbed and weaved around one another for several minutes, drawing blood freely from each other until it was dripping onto the concrete floor beneath them. It was only when Grantaire had his legs and arms wrapped around Lonnie on the ground in what seemed to be a complicated hold, that Grantaire looked up and saw Enjolras. His eyes went wide for a few seconds before he regained his composure and winked.

Enjolras was instantly hard and had to readjust himself in his pants discreetly.

He saw Grantaire loosen his hold slightly, allowing Lonnie to get free and face him upright once again. He had a predatory grin on his face as he stared Lonnie down. Enjolras had seen this look before when Grantaire had successfully argued Enjolras into a corner.

Grantaire had let Lonnie go on purpose. Bahorel leaned over and said, “Watch this,” in Enjolras’ ear.

Grantaire let Lonnie get a glancing blow on the left side of his face then dropped his body low and came up with a knee-buckling right hook to Lonnie’s jaw.

Lonnie dropped heavily like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly cut. A split second of silence fell over the crowd, and then an ear-splitting roar came pouring outward.

Grantaire let the announcer raise his arm in the air as he officially announced him the winner. A few burly guards help a dazed Lonnie from the ring. When Enjolras looked back up from where they were carting the losing man away, Grantaire locked gazes with him. And then he smiled so lasciviously that Enjolras could tell his feelings were not completely unrequited. There was blood staining his teeth and his face was starting to bruise a bit.

Enjolras kind of wanted to explore that mouth, blood or no blood.

When Grantaire came to meetings with his face bruised up and his lip split and only shrugged and said, “Boxing,” in explanation, Enjolras had never envisioned _this_.

Twenty minutes later saw Enjolras and Bahorel waiting by his truck for Grantaire to come out. He had gone into a back room to get cleaned up and dressed. Enjolras fidgeted.

“So, how long have you and Eponine been sleeping with Courf?” Bahorel barked out a surprised laugh.

“A few months. He knew we occasionally slept together, and came and asked us if we wanted to have a threesome. Just like that. Very blunt.”

“Sounds like him,” Enjolras remarked, huffing out a laugh of his own.

“Well, well, well. What brings the great Apollo down here to revel in madness with Dionysus?” Enjolras turned and found Grantaire. His hair was damp and his face was bruising up nicely. All evidence of the blood had been cleaned away except a few stray drops on his jeans.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you.”

“We’re meeting tomorrow, are we not? It couldn’t wait until then?” Grantaire asked, giving him an expectant look.

“Before you get into this, I’m gonna go. R can give you a ride home. I have a couple of people to get back to.” He winked at Grantaire and got in his truck. “I hope it goes well, Enjolras. Thanks for the money,” he called out the window as he pulled away from the curb.

“Well, I guess I need to find somewhere else to be for awhile unless I want to hear your roommate and my roommates fucking again,” Grantaire said, bemused. “C’mon Apollo. My car’s this way.”

They walked in silence for a little while before Grantaire asked, “So, what was this super important thing you needed to talk to me about?” Enjolras bit his lip and then sighed. He stopped walking and turned Grantaire toward him on the sidewalk.

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out. Grantaire didn’t say anything, so Enjolras started talking again. “I mean, I think I’ve been falling in love with you since we started spending so much time together, but I only _realized_ it today. I made a list of the things about you, and they were all positive and well, sometimes I have dreams about you, but that’s not important right now, so I went to your apartment to tell you and I basically ended up cockblocking Bahorel so he could bring me here to you, and then I saw you fight, and holy shit, Grantaire, please make me stop talking,” he rambled, out of breath.

So, Grantaire kissed him. It started out slowly and sweetly but soon grew into a heated mess of tongues and teeth and roaming hands.

After a few minutes of this, Grantaire pulled back and gazed down into his eyes. “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’ve dreamed about this. But are you sure you _love_ me? That you’re not going to get tired of me or annoyed with me and leave? I’d rather not have you than have you and lose you.”

Enjolras cupped Grantaire’s cheek with his hand and fixed the taller man with a serious look.

“I may not have had much experience with relationships, but with all the arguments and fights and debates we’ve had in the past two years, if I haven’t gotten tired or annoyed with you by now, I doubt I ever will. And I’ve only liked you more as I got to know you better. And I will have you know that I have never once been unable to concentrate on schoolwork because of someone’s text message sent two days earlier and then run out of my house immediately to tell that someone how I felt.”

Grantaire is silent for a beat.

“Oh.” Then he smiles. “I bet you told Combeferre before you ran out.”

“I did. Also, Bahorel and Eponine won the bet about us getting together.” They laughed.

Grantaire kissed him softly for a few moments and then linked their hands together, leading Enjolras to the car.

Once they’re driving south, and the houses are turning from small ones with flaky paint and small, weedy yards to sleek, modern apartment buildings and historical storefronts, Grantaire turned to look at Enjolras and his lips quirked in a crooked grin.

“So, we can either go to yours and work this out and,” he smirks, “then decide what we want to do after that, or we can go to mine and do the same and try to outdo Bahorel, Ep, and Courf.”

Enjolras twisted his mouth wryly.

“Well, Combeferre is taking a night off from studying before spring break is over, so it’d be rude to interrupt him with really loud sex.”

“Mine it is then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Then sex! I might add the sex to it later as a second chapter if anyone's interested.
> 
> My tumblr can be found [here](http://www.muffxranger.tumblr.com). Come say hi if you like!


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